


Wolf Moon

by Reaping



Series: Season One Rewritten [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU - Season Rewrite, Canon Compliant, Other, Pre-Slash, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten, To a point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21563992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping
Summary: What if Stiles was bitten instead of Scott?
Series: Season One Rewritten [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554082
Comments: 27
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for one of my best friends, Mels. She asked for a what-if scenario where Stiles is the one out in the woods and gets bitten instead of Scott. After I laughed for forever because honestly, 99% of the mess could've been avoided had Stiles been bitten, I sat down to actually write it and discovered it's going to take a lot more than one short fic to wrap up if I want to stay...somewhat canon compliant.
> 
> I will continue to add to this series when I have the time and drive and it will likely diverge a lot more from canon in the future. This sticks...as close as I could reasonably keep it and still have it (hopefully) make sense. Please let me know if you see any weird spelling/grammatical errors or if you believe I missed any tags. Not beta'd.

Stiles shivers against the cold as he crests the ridgeline, huddling in his too-thin hoodie and clutching the borrowed bat from Scott a little bit tighter. He can see the glow of the sheriff’s department flashlights through the trees below, hear the shouts of men and the barks of the dogs from the K-9 unit. He’s far enough away in the darkness that they shouldn’t spot him, and he knows he’s downwind as well. Stiles descends the ridge, but then hooks a sharp left, making sure to keep parallel to the deputies, keep a good distance between them, though their presence gives him a measure of comfort, makes him feel less alone in the darkness of the preserve. He still wishes Scott had agreed to come with him instead of insisting on getting a good night’s rest before lacrosse practice in the morning - it’s a fruitless endeavor, they’ll be warming the bench like usual, and finding a body would be a much more thrilling adventure. Well, half of a body. He’d heard the call over his contraband police radio - two hikers had found a body in the woods, the lower half of one anyhow.

Stiles is clambering over a fallen log when there’s a loud rustling in the trees ahead. He freezes, squinting into the darkness and choking up on the bat when the noise resolves itself into the thunder of hooves, just as the moon above glints off the eyes of what must be a hundred deer. He barely manages to flail his way backwards, landing with a hard thud on the ground, his keys and phone spilling out of his pocket in a jangle as he tips. Stiles manages to roll half under the log, feeling the rush of wind as the herd leaps over it, hooves crashing to the ground where he was mere moments before. It feels like forever before the animals have finally all passed, his heart thundering louder than their hooves. He waits a few minutes more anyhow, making sure there aren’t any stragglers before carefully easing out from beneath the log, limbs achy from the hard fall.

The bat is easy to find, snatched up quickly and used as a crutch to help him keep balance on the uneven ground, his free hand sliding through wet leaves and moss and god knows what else before he manages to find his phone. The screen has a tiny crack, but miraculously must have managed to not get stepped on and is mostly unharmed. The lights and sounds from the deputies have moved further away while he was trapped, so he takes the risk of turning on the cell’s flashlight, using it and his feet to kick gently through the debris in search of his keys. Stiles thinks Scott had the right idea after all, and as soon as he finds his keys, he’s gonna be out of here. He keeps shuffling along, expecting that they should be right there but not finding them, afraid that the trampling of the deer had somehow kicked them away completely. He’s so focused on his search that he isn’t expecting it when he rounds the end of the log, flashlight skimming over entrails and pale flesh, a face frozen startled in death. He screams, can’t help it, and falls backwards, bat lost in the frantic need to get away. Finding a body is a lot more horrifying than he expected.

Stiles manages to get back to his feet, chest heaving and heart pounding, just in time to hear the low growl behind him. He spins, arms raised despite the loss of the bat, when something dark and hulking crashes against him, a sharp pain in his side and then it’s gone. There’s nothing for it then, his legs move without conscious thought, propelling him along the ravine, phantom breath on his neck. The forest around him is still, makes the pounding of his heart, the crash of his body through the underbrush so very loud. Whatever that was, it was fast. He can’t outrun it, not if it’s chasing him. He pushes through the trees, stumbles when he’s suddenly free of the forest, asphalt beneath his feet, rain suddenly pouring out around him. A flash of light, the blare of a horn, and he stumbles back onto the grassy edge of the road as a car swerves. Stiles tries to catch his breath, calm his heart, stave off the panic attack he can feel swelling deep inside. His eyes flick back to the darkness of the forest, but there’s nothing to see. The woods seemed to have awakened again, soft rustles in the branches, birds and small night animals shifting around - the eerie stillness from his flight gone. It helps more than putting his head between his knees might have, and he takes a few more breaths, hand pressed against his aching side, as he starts to walk along the road, back towards the bend ahead that hides the parking lot where his jeep is waiting. His keys are gone, but one of the deputies had taught him how to hotwire it earlier in the year when the ignition froze up on him, so he can get home, knows where the hide-a-key is at to get back inside before his dad returns. He’s climbing into the jeep when he hears it, a mournful howl somewhere deep in the forest, his body shivering as it echoes. He’d think it was a wolf, if he didn’t know better.


	2. Chapter 2

The alarm on his phone is loud in the quiet of his room, and Stiles swats at it, trying to turn it off, but only succeeding in knocking it to the floor where it continues to blare at him to get up. He groans, rolling out of bed and wincing at the tug in his side. He lifts his shirt, sees the deep impressions left by animal teeth, the marred lines of dried blood. Stiles crosses to the bathroom carefully, quietly, not wanting to disturb his father if he happened to make it home - lucky for him, his dad’s door is open and Stiles can see the made up bed, still empty. He throws himself into a quick shower, hissing in pain at the splash of water over the wound. He washes carefully, gingerly drying it off when he’s done and applying neosporin, hoping it’s not going to get infected, before wrapping it in gauze and medical tape. He’ll keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn’t start to look strange, wonders if he should go get tested for rabies, but decides against it for now. If he didn’t have the evidence bit so painfully into his skin, he’d think he imagined the whole thing.

Stiles dresses in layers, grabs his backpack and stumble-slides down his stairs, forgetting until he gets to the front door that his keys are still lost and swearing as he climbs into the jeep, fumbling with the steering column until he can free the wires and get it started the hard way. The drive to school is blessedly short, and he untwists the wires, stowing them back where they belong before slipping out, barely managing to press himself back against the door when a porsche glides into the spot next to him, nearly clipping his legs.

“Watch the paint.” Stiles honest to god hates Jackson Whittemore with his arrogant face and entitled attitude. Stiles sneers at the words, half tempted to kick the passenger door of the overpriced dick supplement but thinks better of it at the last second. Aside from Jackson’s father being a lawyer, Jackson himself is strong enough to pummel the shit out of Stiles - it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened, but he’d rather avoid it whenever possible. Jackson laughs meanly and heads towards the school, and Stiles can’t help but flip him off behind his back. He’s still facing campus when a hand lands on his shoulder, startling him.

“Jesus Scott, warn a guy next time.”

“Sorry. What’s got you so jumpy?”

“Nothing. Jackson. Sorry.” Stiles shakes his head and turns toward his best friend, small smile gracing his face.

“So, how did it go last night?”

“Oh shit, I found the body!”

“What? Really?” Scott’s eyes are round and huge in his face and Stiles nods.

“Yeah dude, it was so fucking gross man. It was just half of her and she looked fucking terrified, even dead. And then there was this growling and something came at me out of the blue and bit me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was a wolf, but like, on steroids or something.”

“Seriously?” Stiles nods and lifts his shirts, showing the bandaged wound, blood already having seeped through a bit. “Dude, you need to get that checked out. It’s definitely big enough to have been a wolf.”

“Yeah, but there aren’t any wolves in California, haven’t been for like, 60 years or something.”

“Well, it’s not big enough for a bear. Maybe it was a rabid dog? Oh shit! What if it was a rabid dog, Stiles? You need to go get a rabies shot!” Scott’s voice gets higher pitched as he’s talking, worry etching over his features, but Stiles has completely lost track of the words, gaze locked over Scott’s shoulder. Lydia Martin is coming, the girl he’s loved since he can remember, strawberry-blonde hair floating in the breeze. He steps around Scott, hand lifted in a half-wave.

“Hey, Lydia, you look...like you’re gonna ignore me.” Stiles’ shoulders slump as she passes by without sparing him a second glance, turning back to face Scott. “You’re the cause of this you know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dragging me down to your nerd depths. I’m a nerd by association. I’ve been Scarlet-Nerded by you.” Scott just laughs good-naturedly and claps him on the shoulder, turning Stiles towards the school and using his grip to pull him along.

“Whatever you say Stiles. You know, you’ve been making unsubtle passes for years and she’s never once been interested. It’s maybe time to stop.”

“I’ve got a plan Scotty, a 10 year plan, but a plan.”

“Dude, you know how creepy that sounds right? Like, stalker levels of ‘I’m a nice guy’ creepy.” Scott grimaces a bit and Stiles nods his head, conceding the point. They’ve maybe talked about his unhealthy fixation before, and Stiles agreed to scale back, to give it up. He’d just been distracted by the light on her skin and her sweet smell. Maybe she got a new perfume or something.

“You’re right, sorry. I’m working on it, I really am, I swear.”

“I know buddy.” Scott tugs Stiles into a half hug as they crest the steps, passing through the doors and into the start of their sophomore year. They’ve got English together first period, so Stiles lets Scott direct them there, settling into seats near the back and whispering about Stiles’ night in the woods and his missing keys.

“I’m gonna have to go back out there after practice. Hot-wiring the jeep isn’t going to work long term. Also I left your bat out there, so I need to get that too. And I overheard on the scanner this morning before I left that they’ve got a suspect in custody now for the body, so it’s probably safer than it was last night.”

“Unless the suspect is the wolf that bit you, I don’t think that’s true.”

“I told you Scotty, there aren’t any wolves in California. It was probably a stray dog. A big stray dog.” Scott starts talking about how there’s no breed that big, but Stiles is startled by the ringing of a cell phone and he glances around the class, trying to see who’s about to get yelled at on their first day back. Except...nobody is even looking for their phone. There’s movement out of the corner of his eye and he glances out the window, sees a girl he doesn’t recognize sitting on a bench. Watches as she looks down at the phone in her hands, shoulders lifting in what he thinks might be a sigh before tapping it and bringing it to her face, the ringing cutting off as she does so.

Stiles feels like he’s going crazy, watching her. Her lips are moving and he swears it’s her conversation he’s hearing. Something about forgetting a pen and then she’s up and moving out of sight, her voice continuing though he can’t see her anymore. Another voice joins hers, welcomes her to the school, asks where she’s from. He can’t help but hear the reply that they’ve just moved from San Francisco, that they move around a lot but she’s hoping this is it for awhile. Her voice trails off just before the door to their classroom opens and she steps in, looking shy and uncomfortable to suddenly have 30 sets of eyes trained on her. She slips quietly down the aisle after being introduced as Allison Argent, sliding into the seat right behind Scott. A quick glance is all Stiles needs to see that Scott is blushing faintly, almost failing at not turning in his seat to introduce himself. It doesn’t matter, because seconds later she’s tapping Scott on the shoulder, her voice just as clear now as it was when she was outside - at least to Stiles - and asks if she can borrow a pen. Scott nods frantically and fumbles in his backpack before producing one, barely managing to smile before turning back forward, unable to even manage to say ‘you’re welcome’ when she thanks him. Stiles thunks his head on his desk before turning his attention fully to their teacher.

The rest of the school day passes just as oddly, Stiles’ hearing dipping in and out from perfectly normal to nearly supersonic at times. It’s enough to have him mostly on edge as he goes to meet Scott by his locker. He can’t help but notice the new girl has hers several feet down from Scott’s and that Scott is staring dreamily in her direction. He catches a snippet of her conversation when Lydia walks up, something about her mom and fashion and Lydia deciding they’re going to be best friends. Then Jackson walks up and Lydia wraps herself around him, making it obvious that they survived yet another summer together. He rolls his eyes and nudges Scott’s shoulder, deciding Scott was still right and he needed to move on. He can still hear Jackson bragging as they move away down the hall and toward the locker room, explaining that this is a lacrosse town and he’s the captain. Lydia pays him some compliment, something about the championships being all down to him, despite the fact that the team actually has a host of good players, and Stiles does his best to tune out the super hearing, dragging Scott into conversation as they strip down and suit up before heading to the field.

“Man, if you make first line, I’m gonna have nobody to talk to on that bench. I mean, there’s Greenburg, but he’s...Greenburg. You know?” Stiles bumps into Scott again, surprised when he stumbles a bit from the impact and rubs at his shoulder.

“I can’t sit on the bench for another season Stiles, my whole life is sitting on the sidelines, I’m tired of it.” Stiles nods at the admission because he gets it, he really does. It’s just easier not to fill himself with false hope. He opens his mouth to say something encouraging when Scott gets that dreamy look back on his face, eyes fixed on the stands. Stiles follows his gaze and sees Lydia and the new girl, Allison, making their way into the bleachers to watch the practice. 

“Okay Romeo, time to focus on the field if you want to try and make first line.” Scott doesn’t seem to hear him, but it doesn’t matter, Coach Finstock blows his whistle a second later and grabs both of their attention.

“Alright, Bilinski, into the goal.” The words come with a helmet and goalie’s crosse flying towards him, and Stiles barely manages to catch them. “I want to build up everyone’s confidence with some easy scores on you before I crush their souls with Danny.” Finstock’s grin is bordering on maniacal so Stiles ignores the jab at his skills.

“Uh, that’s the spirit Coach.” He tugs the helmet over his head, strapping it into place as he jogs into his spot in the net. Stiles can hear the conversation coming from the stands, Allison asking Lydia about Scott, who’s lined up near the back of the group that’s waiting for their turn at the goal. He’s so focused on the conversation that the blast of Finstock’s whistle catches him off-guard, his super hearing making it screech and rattle in his skull, hands flying up to try and cover his ears through the helmet. He’s so disoriented that he doesn’t even realize someone was taking a shot until the ball slams into the side of his head, dropping him instantly.

“Bilinski! Get the hell off the ground, what are you doing?” Finstock’s voice is loud, punctuated by another blast of his whistle, but Stiles is more prepared this time, just winces as he stands and shakes himself before resettling in the center of the goal. He can see Danny waiting across from him, a little tilt to his head to ask if Stiles is ready, and he tips his head to the side in return. Danny starts running, scooping up the ball, and Stiles tries to anticipate the twist of his steps and the arc of his throw as Danny’s crosse swings up, ball releasing. He’s probably more startled than anyone else when his body moves to the side without thought, arms tilting just right, the ball catching neatly in his own crosse. And then it happens again. And again. And again. He glances down at his hands like he’s never seen them before, body riding a wave of adrenaline as he catches shot after shot. Jackson is up next and Stiles doesn’t miss the sneer on his face as he digs his toes into the ground and starts running, whipping the ball up with his crosse and hurtling it at Stiles with more force than anyone else has so far. Stiles leans his body to the right, arms arcing up, and catches it neatly, hearing the girls cheer from the stands, Scott jumping and whooping from his place in line. Even Finstock seems speechless for once, mouth just dropped open and whistle dangling from its string.

“Stilinski, you been practicing this summer?” Stiles just swallows and nods, because he did, with Scott. But he’s never been this good. Not ever. His mind starts to whir with the possibilities, working even harder when a brief breeze brings that same sweet scent to him on the air, wafting down from the bleachers. He’s easily 200 plus feet away from them right now, face mostly locked in a helmet that definitely carries the stench of old sweat, and yet the smell is nearly overpowering. Enhanced senses, better reflexes...whatever it is, something is going on with him.


	3. Chapter 3

The preserve is so much less terrifying during the day. And also when he’s got someone there with him. The rest of their first practice went pretty quickly, Stiles stopping every single goal. After practice, they showered and then Scott tossed his bike into the back of the jeep while Stiles got it started again. They’ve left it parked in the same spot from last night, trudging up one side of the ravine and down the other, following along it, eyes peeled just in case the keys somehow got kicked up this far by the deer.

“I’m telling you man, something weird is happening to me. I can see better, smell better. Earlier, at the practice, it was like time slowed down - that’s how I caught all those balls.”

“That’s what she said.”

“I’m being serious here Scott. Something is weird.”

“Ooooh, I know what it is. I’ve read about this before!” Scott looks at him earnestly and Stiles feels a weird sort of relief.

“You have?” Stiles leans forward slightly, Scott tilting his head to whisper conspiratorially. 

“Yeah man. You’re Spiderman!”

“Asshole.” Stiles laughs and shoves his shoulder, the word coming out more affectionate than angry. But his mind latches onto the threads. Not Spiderman, definitely not a spider bite on his side, but something. Some vague memories of myths and legends. Before he can put it together, Scott is grabbing his arm.

“Hey, you said you got stuck behind a giant log right?”

“Yeah, why?” Scott just points and Stiles follows his arm. It’s definitely the spot, he can see the churned up earth from the hooves of the deer, and the bat lying haphazardly near the end of it.

“This is it, but the body isn’t here anymore.” Stiles knows the deputies didn’t find it last night, it’s part of why his dad never made it home.

“Maybe the killer moved it?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Or maybe whatever bit me got distracted and took it?” It sends a shiver down Stiles’ spine to think about it - about anyone or anything moving the remains, but he does his best to brush it off, joining Scott when he steps forward. They move toward the bat it but stop when someone steps out of the trees. Stiles feels his breath catch, because dude is hot like burning. Dark hair, leather jacket, face like carved marble. It takes a second but he recognizes him too. It’s been years, and he’s definitely grown up, but he was always pretty unforgettable for Stiles. Before he can say anything, the guy speaks.

“This is private property.” Stiles’ words seems caught in his throat and he can’t make his mouth work enough to answer. Thankfully Scott manages.

“Hey, uh, sorry. We didn’t know. But my friend here lost his keys and he kinda needs them back,” Scott looks at him, confusion twisting his features at Stiles’ continued silence, “So, uh, you didn’t see them around did you?” His voice takes on a hopeful lilt and the guy scowls before digging into his pocket, hand flashing out once it’s free, the keys tinkling together as they fly across the short distance between them. Scott snags them from the air as the guy turns and melts back into the trees, wiggling them in front of Stiles’ face when he doesn’t react.

“Dude, do you know who that was?” Scott looks even more confused at Stiles’ question, glancing between Stiles and the now vacated space where the guy had just been standing. “That was Derek Hale.” Off Scott’s blank look, Stiles’ arms flail out as he continues. “His family died in a fire like, four years ago. Their house burned to the ground while he and his sister were at school. It’s actually out here somewhere.” Stiles can’t stop himself from looking around, like the house might loom up out of the trees now that he’s remembered it. When he glances back towards Scott, he can see understanding dawning in his eyes - if nothing else, he would remember the ghost stories kids have been telling since the fire about the haunted shell of a home out in the middle of the woods. He nods at Stiles and walks the last few feet to retrieve his bat and then they turn back, mission accomplished. They’re halfway back to the jeep when Stiles mutters softly under his breath. “I didn’t know he was back in town.” 

“Why would you?”

“Huh?” 

“Why would you know he was back? Did you know him before or something? I don’t really remember him.”

“Nah, not really.” Stiles didn’t, that’s true. But he remembers the day of the fire. The night he got swept to the station, mere months after his mother died. He remembers Derek and his sister - Laura if he’s recalling correctly - wrapped in those shitty shock blankets, arms wrapped around each other as they cried. Remembers the look of sorrow etched into his father’s features. Remembers the own hollow aching in his chest, twisted up with a sick sense of relief that at least he’d only lost his mother and not everyone he loved all at once. He remembers being tasked with making cocoa and sandwiches and sitting in solemnity with the last remaining Hales as his father explained that everyone in the house was gone save for their uncle, but that he was comatose and the damage so extensive that the doctors didn’t hold much hope that he’d ever wake. Remembers the discussions about foster care and the way Derek’s sister had stood, eyes seeming to flash with power as she insisted that there was no way her brother was going into the system, that she was old enough to adopt him, that they could take him over her dead body. His father raising placating hands, promising he wasn’t trying to do that at all, just giving her the options, but that he’d help her get custody if that’s what she wanted. Remembers the way she’d folded in on herself as she nodded along, voice creaking as she thanked him and sunk back onto the sofa in his father’s office. Remembers how much older she’d looked, but also how relieved, instantly believing his father.

He also remembers her face more clearly. He inhales sharply, something pained twinging in his chest, because he’s seen her too - even if he didn’t realize it. It was dark and she’d been older, and gods does he hope he’s wrong about this, because if he isn’t, he knows who the body in the woods belongs to.


	4. Chapter 4

Another storm rolls in that night and Stiles finds himself jumping at every sound and flash of lighting. He hasn’t been this wound up in a long time, and before he can work himself into a panic, he decides to take a shower. It’s probably time to change his bandage again anyhow. He gathers up the necessary supplies and lays them out surrounding his bathroom sink, turning on the shower to heat before stripping his shirt off. The blood on the gauze seems to be older, and he winces a little as he peels the medical tape off his skin. The second it’s free, he lifts the gauze away, prepared for the worst...except his skin is unmarred. Where the bite was, there’s nothing, just pale skin and a few scattered moles. His eyes look wide and scared when he tilts his face back up and meets his reflection.

His heart is thudding in his chest and his eyes keep drawing back to his woundless skin, his breath coming in sharp pants. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut tight, feeling the oncoming panic, and then blinks them open, tracking his reflection, confirming the lack of a bite where he knows one should be. His hands grip the edge of his sink, grip tight as his breathing shallows. His vision is starting to grey at the edges, all of his senses overtaken by the slam of his heart in his chest, the harsh exhalations of breath as he fights to regain control. He can feel himself slipping sideways into a full fledged panic attack when a loud cracking startles him enough that he finally catches his breath. He swallows and glances down, sees the cracks in the sink’s porcelain, can feel crumbles of it grating against his palm, and he releases his grip, mouth dropped open as he stumbles back, crashing into the wall. Everything seems to speed up and slow down all at once and Stiles is sliding down, vision blacking out as he goes.

Stiles comes to a little while later - he’s not sure exactly how long but the bathroom is filled with steam from the shower and he’s curled into a ball on his side. He feels wrung out, the panic attack he probably should’ve had a day ago striking him harder than he’s had in a long while. He takes his time sitting up, limbs feeling weak and unsteady. He can’t help but run his hand over his side, confirming that there’s still no wound somehow. He takes in a deep breath, refusing to let his body take over again, refusing to spiral back. It’s weird, but it’s fine. He’s fine. He’s got all of his limbs and he’s alive. He repeats this to himself over and over as he uses the wall to help him stand. His eyes skip over the cracked sink and he finishes stripping down, grateful that the mirror is now too fogged over to allow him to inspect himself again. He steps into the shower carefully and cleans himself off, swiping away the dried blood and soaping off the overpowering smell of his own fear. His skin is pink by the time he emerges, wrapping himself in a towel and heading back to his room. A quick glance at the hallway shows that his dad still hasn’t made it home, and Stiles spares a brief moment to hope that he at least napped on a cot at the station.

Stiles dries off and dresses, checks the time on his cell and realizes Scott should still be at the vet clinic he’s been working at and decides that he needs someone else who saw the wound to confirm that he’s not losing his mind. The storm is still raging but it’s worth the risk to stave off the panic so he throws on a hoodie and rushes to the jeep, managing to get in without tumbling to the soaked ground. He’s just barely parking when another car comes screeching into the lot and he recognizes Allison as she flings herself out as soon as it’s parked. She’s shivering, soaked through before she ever got out of the car, he thinks, and she races around to the back hatch. He’s out of the car by the time she gets it open and he hears the growling of a dog before he steps around his own car and sees it. It’s lips are peeled back from it’s teeth in a snarl and Allison is babbling at it, snatching her hands back each time she makes a move to reach for it and it lunges towards her.

“Need some help?” Stiles feels bad when she startles, but he tries to paste on a friendly smile as he moves toward them.

“Oh god, I hit it with my car and I managed to get it in but now I can’t get it back out and it’s bleeding and I don’t know what to do…” Allison is talking so fast Stiles almost can’t keep up but he edges closer to her car, catching the dog’s eyes and feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise when it turns its gaze to him, the snarling kicking up a notch. He can’t help himself from curling his own lip, letting out a nearly subvocal snarl of his own. He feels strange as he does it, face fixed on the animal, and is surprised when the dog whimpers and tucks its ears back, lowering its head.

“The clinic is closed but my friend Scott should be inside, can you go bang on the door until he opens it? I’ll get this guy out of the car, okay?” Stiles softens his tone and glances at Allison, sees her nod with new determination, seeming to gather herself back from the edge of hysterical. As soon as she moves away he steps up to the back of her car, speaking softly to the dog inside, soothing nonsense about just wanting to help it and please don’t bite him. He’s honestly surprised when he doesn’t get snapped at as he scoops the dog up, though he does flinch a bit when it whines in pain. “I know buddy, I know. Let’s get you inside, get you fixed up.” Blood is a sharp tang on the air, unpleasant in his nose, and he tries as best as he can to gentle his hold and not make the pain worse. He can hear Allison explaining what happened to Scott over the sounds of the storm, and he turns and hurries as best he can to them, following Scott to an exam room and laying the dog on the table. 

Allison starts asking Scott if he thinks he can help and Stiles uses that opportunity to slip back out of the room and head to the back to go wash his hands. He can hear the other two talking as Scott explains what he’s doing and reassures Allison that the dog will be okay, and he smiles to himself at the strange opportunity this is giving Scott to actually talk to the new girl. Stiles steps into the back room and moves toward the sink, passing the cat cages and nearly jumping out of his skin when they all start to hiss and yowl. He can’t help the snarl he lets out, but that doesn’t stop them, really it just seems to amp them up more and he rushes to the sink to wash his hands and get back out of there. He can hear Scott offering Allison a spare shirt to replace the soaking one she’s sitting in and he decides he’s better off waiting in the front. Stiles does his best to tune them out but it doesn’t work very well and he smiles to himself when he hears Scott buck up and ask Allison to the party on Friday, smiling wider when he hears her accept. Eventually Scott comes back in from outside, looking a little dazed but with a grin on his face.

“I’m so proud of you Scotty, so proud.” Stiles claps him on the back and Scott turns to him, smile getting bigger.

“I asked her out.”

“Yeah, I heard, which is kind of wild.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I know, it’s weird, I totally shouldn’t have heard you.”

“No, I mean I can’t believe I asked her out. And that she said yes.”

“Oh, yeah. That too I guess.” Stiles’ brow furrows because as exciting as this is for Scott, he should at least be noticing that it’s super weird Stiles heard his conversation while he and Allison were outside, in the rain. “So hey, remember that bite I had this morning?”

“Huh? Bite? Oh wait, yeah. What about it? Did it get infected”

“No, uh...it’s gone.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s like...completely healed.” Scott tilts his head like an overgrown puppy and Stiles peels his wet shirts up, showing his unmarked skin.

“That’s weird. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as we thought.”

“I was bleeding. A lot. And even if it wasn’t that bad it shouldn’t be completely gone now.” Scott’s head waggles side to side a bit as he thinks before he shrugs and turns to head back into the exam room, starting to clean up as Stiles walks in. 

“I don’t know, but if it’s gone I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Wouldn’t worry - Scott this is definitely something to worry about. Healing wounds in a day, hearing things I shouldn’t hear, smelling things I probably shouldn’t smell. And like, that dog was super aggressive when Allison tried to get him out of the car but then I growled at him and he totally calmed down. And also the cats completely freaked out on me even though they totally love me because I sneak them the good tuna from that little fridge whenever I come around. It’s weird man.”

“Stiles! You shouldn’t be sneaking them tuna. They’re on diets. Also the dog didn’t bite Allison did it?”

“I...all of the things I said and that’s what you focus on?”

“Huh?” Scott’s throwing the last of the cleaning towels into a hamper and turns around only when Stiles makes a strangled noise at him. “Are you alright Stiles?”

“NO! No I’m not alright, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Well I don’t know what you want me to do Stiles. I work at a vet clinic part time, I’m not a doctor. I told you to go to the hospital.”

“I don’t think a hospital can help me with this Scotty.”

“With what exactly?”

“With whatever bit me, whatever is happening to me. Super healing and super hearing and super smelling and...and my reflexes at lacrosse. If I was bit by a spider I would absolutely be turning into Spiderman. But I was bitten by a wolf...or something like it.”

“Well maybe you’re a werewolf now.” Scott’s tone is joking, maybe a little mocking, but it gets Stiles’ mind whirring again - back to the thoughts he’d had when they went to retrieve his keys in the preserve, back to the night he got bit. The oversized wolf, the glowing eyes. 

“Maybe I am.” His voice is soft, maybe a little scared, and while he’s one hundred percent serious, Scott just laughs, hand clapping his shoulder briefly before shoving him back out of the exam room, towards the door.

“Alright Stiles, I gotta lock up. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” Stiles thinks about arguing, about making Scott sit down and listen to him but he doesn’t think that will change anything. Scott’s already humming to himself as he goes to shut down the rest of the clinic and lock it up, his happy humming that means his mind is on whatever good things it routinely conjures for him (and Stiles isn’t jealous about having a brain that lives in the happy places, really he’s not), so instead of pushing the issue he mumbles out an agreement and shoves back out into the storm. He drives home in a bit of a daze, mind flipping over and over his symptoms. His house is still empty and he’s a little grateful for it as he trudges upstairs, dropping his wet clothes into a pile on the floor and sliding beneath his blanket. His curtains are open and as he lays there, he stares outside, watching as the clouds part and reveal the moon, not quite full but on it’s way. He’s bathed in moonlight briefly, and he wonders if he’s making the right connections or if he’s imagining it all, but before he can formulate arguments for and against, he’s asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles startles awake when he faceplants onto wet leaves. He went to sleep in his bed, he knows he did, but now he’s out somewhere in the woods, low fog clinging to the ground. There’s a soft growl to his right and when he snaps his head he can see the gleam of two red points piercing through the fog and Stiles is on his feet before he can consciously think about it, feet flying over the ground, somehow avoiding branches and roots. A fence looms up out of the fog and he’s leaping up, gripping the top and flinging himself over it before he can even register it’s happening, dropping down and down until he’s splashing into a pool. He comes up sputtering for breath, sees a man standing in shock, hose dropped down to puddle water over his feet.

“Uh...good morning Mr. Thurston.” Stiles waves awkwardly before scrambling out of the pool and jogging over to the gate leading to the street, hoping like hell that Mr. Thurston doesn’t decide to call his dad about this. At least he knows where he is now, thankfully only a few houses away from his own, and he manages to get inside before he thinks any of the other neighbors see him running around in his boxers. “Guess I’ll add sleepwalking to the list of weird shit.”

Stiles showers and changes, grabbing his backpack and keys before heading to school. Thankfully his senses seem to be a little more in control today than they were yesterday, so he doesn’t feel like he’s about to crawl out of his skin. At least not until he yelps, barely snatching his hand out of the way when his locker is suddenly closed in his face. Stiles turns to see Jackson leaning against the locker next to his, glaring at him, jaw tensed.

“How ’bout you tell me where you’re getting your juice.”

“What?”

“Where are you getting your juice?”

“Uh...the grocery store?” Stiles isn’t stupid, but he figures playing dumb might get Jackson off his back for a little while, at least.

“Now, listen, Stilinski…you’re gonna tell me exactly what it is and who you’re buying it from, because there’s no way in hell you’re out there kicking ass on the field like that without some sort of chemical boost.” Or maybe it won’t. Stiles puts on an ‘a-ha’ expression and figures he’ll go with it anyhow.

“Oh! You mean steroids? Are you on steroids?” He’s not really surprised when Jackson grabs his shirt and shoves him into the lockers, but before it can go any further someone clears their throat down the hall and Jackson lets him go, patting his chest and leaning in close.

“I’ll figure out your secret Stilinski, bet on it.” Stiles just raises his brows and shrugs when Jackson finally turns and leaves, letting out a relieved breath. The rest of the day is mostly uneventful until he checks in on his dad’s files remotely during study hall. As soon as it lets out and he heads to lacrosse, he grabs Scott.

“Hey, hey - the forensic report is in on the body. They found wolf hairs. Wolf hairs man.” Scott doesn’t react and Stiles follows his line of sight to the bleachers, sees Allison has joined Lydia to watch practice. He rolls his eyes when Scott waves cheerily at the girls and turns to line up. Coach Finstock is rambling on about today's practice and first line, but Stiles can barely concentrate with the way Jackson is glaring at him. He moves into position when Coach blows the whistle and is surprised when his crosse lifts up and catches the ball, even more so when Jackson immediately lays him out. Stiles can feel the way his jaw is clenching, his heart thudding angrily in his chest, and he moves back into position, lip curled as he stares at Jackson across the line.

The whistle blows again and Stiles is moving with more grace and finesse than ever before. He’s got the ball in his crosse and spins to the left and the right, dodging the other players, shoulder checking Jackson as he heads toward the goal. He leaps clear over one defender and then he’s ducking and spinning and the ball is flying out of the crosse and into the goal netting, right between the legs of the goalie. He doesn’t have time to enjoy it though, just nods his head at the cheers and praise from the coach before he’s jogging to the locker room. He can feel the adrenaline flooding his system, feel pinpricks in his fingertips, a strange crowding in his mouth, and he rushes into the showers as soon as he hits the locker room, gloves and helmet flung off to the side before he’s turning the water on cold and shoving his face and hands beneath it. It’s the right kind of shock to slow his heart and calm him down. Whatever is going on with him, he needs to get a handle on it. He stays with his head under the spray until he can hear the team returning to the locker room, moves over to the bench in front of his locker and starts stripping down to change.

“That was excellent playing Stilinksi, excellent. You’re on the first line. No more disappearing act though!” Finstock’s voice booms through the room, and before Stiles can protest, he’s moving into his office and slamming the door. Stiles looks over at Scott when he drops down onto the bench next to him, looking a little defeated.

“Scotty…”

“It’s cool man, congrats on first line. Maybe you can show me how you learned all of that stuff you did?” Stiles just nods, unwilling to explain that he has no idea how or what he even did, not with so many people around. He finishes changing and heads home, dropping Scott off at the clinic on his way. When he gets home, it’s straight back to the computer to start researching again. He’s pretty sure he wasn’t wrong before, and if he’s right...he really really needs to get a handle on things. He’s startled out of his research when Scott bursts into the room, excitedly chattering already about how he’s got a date with Allison and asking if Stiles wants to crash the party maybe.

“Dude, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve been doing research and I think I was right. Look.” Stiles starts handing over printouts about werewolves and wolfsbane and the full moon and Scott stares at the sheets and then flicks his gaze back up to meet Stiles’.

“How much Adderall have you had buddy?”

“What? Uh...none, actually.”

“Maybe you need some.” Scott drops the printouts on the bed.

“No listen, I’ve been reading a lot and when you factor in my symptoms, I totally think this is right, and I shouldn’t be doing anything at all that might get my heartrate up. When we were at practice earlier-”

“Stiles, buddy, I love you but you’re not making any sense right now. Come on, grab your keys and lets go.” The thing is, he shouldn’t go. He should stay where he’s at, because he knows he’s right. But this is the first time he’s ever actually been invited to a party, even if it was Scott who asked him to go. So Stiles lets himself be dragged downstairs and dutifully plays chauffeur to Scott and then to Allison when they collect her. If she thinks it’s weird that he’s tagging along, she politely doesn’t say so.

The party is in full swing when they make it inside, and it takes less than a minute for Stiles to lose Scott and Allison. The noise is an assault on his senses, his hearing going haywire again, making him flinch at every yell. Stiles can feel sweat prickling along his neck, rivulets running over his skin, his vision sharpening and dulling in quick turns as his heart picks up speed. He catches sight of Jackson and Lydia dancing, her eyes locking on his appraisingly before they turn and then it’s Jackson’s attention. He sees the mean little smirk on Jackson’s face as his arm tightens on Lydia’s waist, and Stiles can feel his lip curl in a snarl before he hears a snap to his left. He glances over and sees Derek Hale standing there, Lydia’s dog Prada at his feet, growling and barking. He’s nudged from the side and looks over to see Scott, eyes wide in a question, mouth forming words that Stiles’ ears just can’t make out. He catches a flash of Lydia’s perfume, feels his attention trying to focus on it, knows he was wrong to come, that he’s got to leave right now. He shoves his way through party-goers, ignoring the shouts, heading towards the gate Derek had been standing by - he can’t see him anywhere but it doesn’t matter, he pushes out of the gate and takes in great gulps of the untainted air from the street, rushing to the jeep and speeding toward home as soon as he can. He thinks he hears Scott calling after him, but he can’t go back, not with the way he’s feeling.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles barely makes it inside and up the stairs before he twists uncomfortably, clutching his stomach. He lets out half a shout before he can straighten, hands gripping the bathroom sink tight as he meets his own gaze in the mirror, eyes shining a preternatural blue, sideburns suddenly full, fangs crowding his mouth. A quick glance down at his hands shows claws tipping each of his fingers, more hair sprouting from his skin.

“Holy shit, I was right.” His words sound slurred and he can’t help but clench his eyes tight at the sudden brightness in the room.

“Stiles? STILES?” Scott’s voice makes him flinch before he scrambles across the hall to his room, slamming the door and flicking the lock, backing away from it. “Stiles! Open up man, what the hell?”

Scott’s rattling the knob, the door shaking in its frame, and Stiles keeps backing away, feeling trapped.

“Go away Scotty, run.”

“Stiles, let me in! You took off, I just need to see you’re okay!”

“I - I can’t, you gotta go Scotty. You gotta leave.” Scott ignores him completely and Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if he was throwing his entire body weight against the door with the way it’s shuddering in the frame. The lock is just a shitty one from when the house was built, there’s no way it’ll hold under continued assault, and Stiles doesn’t trust himself enough to stay here. It’s no effort at all to slide the window up and drop down to the ground, though before he’d been changed he probably would’ve broken an ankle at least. He runs as fast as he can, dropping down to use his hands too on instinct, surprised to see how blurred the world around him is. He runs with no destination in mind until he catches a familiar scent on the wind, body twisting towards it without thought. He’s well into the preserve when he finally slows, the scent sharper and stronger as he gets closer to a tree ahead, seeing a blazer hanging from it - one he knows Lydia was wearing earlier. It’s accompanied by something richer, spicier almost. He lets out a snarl when he snatches up the blazer, turning to face the source of the other scent.

“What did you do with her?”

“She’s fine, safe from you.”

“She was never in danger from me.”

“Oh, so you _didn’t_ almost lose it at her party?” Stiles huffs, annoyed as Derek Hale steps out of the shadows and into the light.

“I left before it became a problem.”

“You being there at all was a problem - you’re new to this, you lack the control-”

“I KNOW!” Stiles practically roared out his annoyance, taking a deep breath after his outburst and trying to calm himself down after feeling his claws slice through the blazer, reducing it to scraps. “I know. I’m trying.”

“I can help.”

“Can you? Because from where I’m standing, I can’t trust you - you know what I am...are you the one who bit me?” Before Derek can answer there’s a sharp whistling noise, followed by the thunk of an arrow lodging into the tree next to them and a bright burst of light. Derek grabs his arm, yanking him out of the way as another arrow slams into the tree right where he’d been standing.

“Too late, they’re here - run!” Stiles scrambles after him, trying to blink his vision back into focus when there’s another burst of light, pulling him up short. He tries to spin in the other direction, but is stopped by another arrow, this one slicing through his arm and pinning him to the tree he was passing in front of. Three men coalesce out of the shadows, crossbows levelled at him, the closest one stepping even further into the light and giving Stiles a clear view of his face. The man looks older, salt and pepper hair with a chiseled jaw and icy blue eyes that make his heart race with worry. Before the man can step any closer though, Derek is there, roaring as he rams into the other two men, knocking them off their feet before shoving the closest one out of the way and breaking the arrow pinning Stiles, then yanking him along as he tears through the trees. Stiles hears the muted thunks of arrows embedding in wood, but it doesn’t take long to outrun the sounds of pursuit, and Stiles doubles over as soon as Derek stops, taking heaving breaths as he tries to calm himself down.

“What the hell was that about?”

“They’re hunters. Argent and the others.”

“Hunters?” Stiles twists his head so he can look up at Derek, the question clear on his face.

“People who know about the supernatural, about werewolves. They think we’re animals, that we need to be put down.” A chill runs up Stiles’ spine at the way Derek says it, and he does his best to shake it off as he stands.

“That why you bit me? To fight them.” Derek’s head shakes in a denial, though Stiles isn’t sure if it’s about having bit him or just about the reasoning behind it.

“The bite is a gift, Stiles. Your -”

“Is there a customer service desk for returns or exchanges? Because this is one gift I definitely don’t want.”

“It’s not a joke!”

“Yeah, got that when someone _shot me through the arm and pinned me to a tree_. Thanks.”

“You and me? We’re brothers now. You’re going to need to learn control, and fast - the full moon is coming.” Derek spins on his heel as soon as the words are out, melting into the shadows given off by the trees before Stiles can really reply.

“Great, thanks a bunch for that cryptic bullshit! And for leaving me in the woods!” Stiles yells after Derek, reasonably certain the other werewolf can hear him before kicking his foot in the dirt and turning the opposite direction. “Dick.”

It’s a minor miracle when Stiles makes it back to the road, even more of one when he hears the familiar rattle of his jeep as it pulls up alongside him, Scott behind the wheel.

“Stiles, thank god. I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Hey Scotty, what did we say about driving my baby?”

“Not to. But you took off. Out your window. Your second story window.”

“Yeah, scoot over buddy, I’ll…try to explain it.” Stiles moves to the driver’s side, letting Scott slide over the center console and out of his way before climbing in, patting the side of the jeep affectionately and murmuring to it as he pulls away from the curb.

“Don’t worry Stiles, I’ll help you figure it out.” Stiles wants to believe Scott, but he knows that his situation is verging on unbelievable. He’d tried telling Scott what was happening and his friend refused to believe it - maybe that was for the best, especially if there were people out there trying to hunt him down.

***

The next day at school, Stiles was exhausted. He’d wanted nothing more than to skip, but he needed to try to keep things as normal and unsuspicious as possible. He was just heading up the steps when he heard Allison shouting for Scott. Stiles stopped when his friend did, turning around to wave alongside Scott when his heart stopped dead in his chest before racing. Allison was getting out of a dark SUV, and the man holding the door for her, the one she was leaning into and thanking and calling ‘dad’...that was the hunter who’d put the arrow through his arm. Fuck his life.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/JennC1983) and once in a blue moon on the mostly dead [tumblr](https://jennthereaper.tumblr.com/) :)


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